


Light's Program

by bellygunnr



Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Feral Behavior, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Manipulation, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-09-30 10:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellygunnr/pseuds/bellygunnr
Summary: Dr. Light knew that Wily would not go out without a fight. The future would be imperiled so long as Wily maintained his grudges and his spite. So he makes something that will stop Wily in his tracks and prays that X will never have to use it.God, is he wrong...





	1. Tomb

The facility is dark and dilapidated, ruined by moisture and neglect. Rust patterns the walls and piping in intricate, beautiful designs that eventually melts into gaping holes. The ceiling bows and cracks, disgorging its contents of rock and steel onto the floor. Hydraulic doors sit either stuck together or frozen open, their frames ragged as if abused. Ancient machinery still equipped with screens stare at them forlornly as they pass, so caked with dust that their searchlights are not reflected back at them.

“This laboratory is not structurally sound, Sigma, sir,” X says quietly. His voice barely echoes it is so soft. “We should leave soon.”

Sigma shakes his head. “No, not yet. We haven't found what we are looking for.”

X nods. “I know, sir. Should we at least contact our excavation team before we lose signal…? It is becoming awfully thin,” X continues pleadingly.

“No, X. We would exceed the weight limit,” Sigma replies. “And the last thing we want is another tragedy.”

Tragedy-- while excavating the lab of X’s origins, they had unleashed a mechaniloid hellbent on destruction. The death toll had reached the upper hundreds before they could contain it. It was an accident that shied Cain away from digging ever again, though it failed to stop X from pursuing it.

“...Yes, sir,” X says finally. “I understand.”

They continue to penetrate the underground lab. The steel floors protest under Sigma’s great weight, but otherwise hold, if precariously so. X is leading their team of two into the den, optics dilating every now and then as he scans the area. Their target has not become any more accessible since they had begun.

“What do you see, X?” Sigma speaks again, his voice echoing. “Are we any nearer?”

“No, Sigma, sir. Our target is still some sixty feet beneath us. However, I may be detecting an elevator shaft nearby,” X says gently. He pauses before another door, its steel-plated halves sealed together by rust and decay. “Perhaps past this room.”

“Step aside, X,” Sigma cuts in. He steps ahead of X and wedges his fingers between the seam of the doors. His servos heave and whine under the strain, but the door does come open, giving way to yet another rusted-out room. With a huff, he stomps inside, assaying the room for himself.

 

It is a circular, cavernous room stacked with screens and consoles; X surmises it must have been a control room back in its day. Directly across from them is another sealed door, a keypad glowing beside it. The one piece of equipment to have power in the entire room, it seems, as nothing else hums with power. X watches Sigma approach it, his skin surely brimming with impatience.

It fills X with a sense of dread that pools in his belly, yet his mouth stays sealed. Sigma has been down here too long to listen to reason. He watches as his commander plugs into the keypad-- no easy feat, as X is sure the ports are ancient, and something had to be forced. He pads closer in time to see the keypad flash red, then blue.

“This encryption is incredible,” Sigma murmurs. “But simple to crack.”

The keypad beeps. It flashes red.

“...There are multiple encryptions,” Sigma says more loudly.

X creeps even closer, eyeing the screen. “Be careful, sir. We do not know what lurks behind there.”

The keypad blares and the doors slide open with a dull _ka-thunk._ Behind them is, indeed, an elevator shaft-- but all that greets them is emptiness. Sigma stifles a swear as he peers into the dim chasm, noting the rusted belts and mechanisms. The thing must have fell right out of place after a particularly bad jostle.

 

“...Sir, our target is at the bottom of this shaft,” X supplies helpfully. “If we can find a way down.”

X can’t help himself. His voice modulates at a higher frequency to communicate smugness, as if he is proud of his guesswork. He is also somewhat pleased that they have, apparently, found a reason to call down their excavation team. They would have the equipment to delve into the guts of the laboratory-- safely.

“If the elevator has collapsed, why do you think the keypad and doors still work?” Sigma says instead. His voice is low with wonder, a burgeoning curiosity. He leans his head past the door frame, peering down. It is a steep, distant drop-- easily the estimated sixty feet.

“Perhaps they are powered separately,” X says. He peers beneath Sigma’s arm-- and that’s when a light begins to flash. An alarm wails, cacophonous, rattling in their audio systems as it rebounded mercilessly off the metal walls. X staggers back, clapping his hands over his helmet to try and stifle the noise. It doesn’t work. “Sir!”

 

Or perhaps it needed to power a warning system no matter the cost…

 

A great banging erupts from the depths of the shaft, synchronous with the screeching alarm. Sigma puts himself in front of X protectively, arms thrown out and beam sword drawn, big and aggressive. His full bulk is revealed in the fierce display-- Sigma is easily one of the largest Reploids in the world, confident and imposing. Very few could match his strength, power, or wit. Even the latest in Reploid technology did not scratch the surface of what was Sigma. He faces the unknown danger without a second thought, leaving X to cower behind him.

 

The banging ceases. A humanoid creature crawls from the depths.

 

It is a machine-- evident in the gems embedded in its chest and forehead, the deadly red glow of its eyes. X can see that the design is reminiscent of his own, bulky but elegant, each servo whirring audibly. Its boots, emblazoned with gold, leave craters in the steel floor as it lunges forward. Clawed hands grapple with Sigma, grip strong enough to puncture the armor and wrest free an entire limb. Red-tinged oil gushes freely from the exposed socket, mixed with the sickly green of fresh energy.

X can feel the fluids stain his armor. His throat swells with disgust, choking off his words. He watches the fight-- the “fight”-- unfold in horror.

The new robot has Sigma in a deadly brawl for his life. Oil is dripping from his fingers and from his cheeks, but that is less disturbing than the new processes coming to life in his brain. A program has awakened-- some kind of antivirus, X thinks, and its attacking his firewalls. It screams at him more loudly than the alarm, drowning the outside world out.

It eventually wins.

There is oil in his mouth.

*

Zero was not built with “thinking” in mind. Not in the traditional sense. He could process and react accordingly, but he was never programmed to _think_. Yet he thought now, in very simple terms, and decided that he strongly disliked his current location. It was crowded and filthy, stinking with oil. And there were hands grabbing him around his middle.

Those hands were important, somehow, but he removed them anyway. He was rewarded with a clunk as their owner slumped to the ground, presumably (hopefully) dead. To the right of him, some feet away, was a massive silhouette. It was missing an arm and life-fluid dribbled profusely from its wounds. Zero wondered if he had did that.

He couldn’t remember anything, so wondering is all he could do. All signs pointed to yes, he did do that, but he didn’t know why and honestly didn’t care. He had bigger things to worry about, like getting himself out of here…

Getting to his boots was an ordeal. A gash had been sliced into his thigh, impairing his ability to stand straight. He grit his teeth- sharp, pointed- to chase away the pain. Beneath him, a second figure lay collapsed. This one was painfully familiar-- this one was important. He couldn’t leave without taking this one with him. He didn’t know why.

He hefted the figure up, draping it across his shoulder. It was very light.

 

The surface was just as dark and damp as below. His boots sank into mud with any ugly sound, bringing him to grimace. Not far from where he stood there was a cluster of figures-- more robots, it seemed. These seemed similar to the one he carried on his back. He watched apprehensively as their awareness broke the silence.

 

“Commander Sigma-! You’re back!”

 

“That’s… that’s not Sigma. X!”

 

“Who is that? What happened?”

 

One particular robot shouldered his way to the front, a visor over his face. Zero does not like that very much.

“The questions can wait. Follow us back to camp,” the robot snapped. He made a sweeping gesture that compulsed his group to obey readily. Zero didn’t like that very much, either. Why should he follow them? What if they hurt him? Or hurt his little robot?

Little robot. At all costs, he would protect his charge.

He trudged after the group of robots and followed them into their camp. It was a collection of tents and several large machines fitted with wheels. In haphazard places were hand tools, wrapped up in bundles of cloth. A smaller machine sat in the center, riddled with gadgets and buttons. Zero had little idea of what it could be for so he made sure to stay away from it.

“You can put X down, now,” someone said. “We have the equipment to fix him up.”

Zero whipped his head around. X was a recurring word-- perhaps it meant his little robot. He would not give up his little robot for anything. He glared at the intruder, side-stepping away from them.

“Did Sigma send you back up? Where did you come from?”

“Stop hazarding him. Come on, I think we need to go into the cave. Benny, why don’t you take that guy and X back to base?”

They swarmed apart under their various orders. Zero reluctantly followed the robot-- Benny, apparently- into one of the wheeled machines. The majority of the group had gathered elsewhere. He growled at the robots who attempted to take X from his shoulders. No one would touch his little robot.

*

X dreams.

He is back in Dr. Light’s lab, fastened to the operating table, not yet fully realized. His creator is speaking but he can’t make out the words-- they are muffled, almost garbled. He wonders if this is because he is not finished yet. Dr. Light tugs on something. The dream fades away.

He is on a hill, pale green with frosted grass that is rough against X’s skin. Dr. Light is seated beside him, his mouth moving, utterly soundless. X struggles to read his lips but they are blurry, pixelated. He looks out over the hill instead. The sun is setting behind the mountains, its light splitting into a million different rays.

 

The dream fades away.

 

It is nothingness now, but Dr. Light’s voice is clear. It’s a smooth baritone, washing over him like a stream over worn pebbles. X’s sense of awareness begins to wane.

“X, I have built you with one thing in mind… free will. You are the first of your kind, X. The world has never seen anything like you-- and I fear they are not ready. I fear that _you_ are not ready yet either.”

“Ah, and I was not the only one preparing for the future… Albert sows his seeds of terror as far as they will take him. I’m sorry, X, but this must be done.”

X does not understand what this means. Who is Albert? What is it that his creator must do? He reaches out, but he has no body. He cries out but he has no voice. Useless in this limbo nightmare.

The words fade. The program comes back.

*

Zero lay curled up beside his little robot’s bed, eyes slitted and alert. It had only been a few hours since his arrival but already he had worked out a purpose-- a job. He would defend the perimeter of his room and allow only authorized robots come through. So far, only two robots were authorized. The others he nipped or bit at when they so much as looked at the door funny.

This policy, of course, led to one of the robots trying to speak with him. He understood but couldn’t formulate words himself.

“There are lots of people invested in X’s condition,” the robot would say. They had a high-frequency voice that buzzed pleasantly in Zero’s ears. “Especially Professor Cain. He’s a human, you see. He helps X with his work. Surely you could let him through?”

Zero growled low in his throat, distressed. The robot withdrew a rectangular device. It showed a pristine photo of a wrinkled old human, dressed in robes and braided white hair.

“See? This is what the Professor looks like. He couldn’t harm a fly… Oh, my name is Cherry, by the way,” the robot- Cherry- said.

Zero relented, nodding his head in a jerky, uneven pattern. Then he turned away from this Cherry to nuzzle at X’s hands. His little robot remained as lifeless as ever.

Cherry continued speaking at him. “I’m glad. He’ll be coming in soon, okay? You know what he looks like, so no biting!”

He was about to bite Cherry if she kept it up. Growling, he pulled himself closer to his little robot’s bed and tucked his head underneath the arm. He relaxed when the door to the room slid shut, and all was quiet.

This Professor Cain could expect a very thorough examination. Zero wouldn’t let just anybody come into his X’s room.

*

And Professor Cain did receive one. Quite unexpected, unwanted, and yet not entirely disliked, this examination. He stared with some fright at the red reploid as it first lunged at them and then poked at him all over, clawed fingers grabbing at his robes. Occasionally, the reploid-- man or woman or not at all, he was unsure- would whip their head around to stare at the nurse. Then they would return to invading Cain’s personal space bubble.

“I had no idea X had a friend!” Cain blustered.

“Well, neither did we. Story is he crawled right out of the same tomb X and Sigma went down in,” the nurse- Bomi- said gently. “Hasn’t left X’s side since.”

Cain took this in with a wordless nod. The reploid shook out their golden shock of a mane and retreated, apparently finished with their examination. Tentatively, he approached X’s bedside, eyeing the red reploid all the while.

“I suspect he may be a relic of that same tomb, as you put it,” Cain suggested. He took X’s hand in his own- a sad, worried gesture. He did not like seeing his dearest friend- his son- put under like this. “And a very peculiar one as well.”

 

[  a _w e e k_ since 0 ]

 

X blinks. He blinks and flutters his eyelids until his optics come online. He’s greeted by the color white, white and grey, featureless. The servos in his neck pop and squeeze as he twists his head around to observe. There are machines bearing down on him. They consume information fed to them by the various cables inserted into his mainframe. X decides quickly that he does not like this, but sitting up proves to be impossible. It’s been so long since he’s moved.

But why has it been so long? Where is he, and why is he there? He probes into his memory where data rushes and flows. There is nothing there. He probes into his memory where it rests until it is sought out.

It throws up an error.

X frowns. It hurts.

A machine begins beeping gently beside him. Outside, a light begins spinning. X listens to this with trepidation, nervousness only mounting as he hears something slide open.

“Are you awake…? Oh, my, you are!” A voice, a woman, speaks. Her face bobs into view. Pretty red hair, pretty green eyes. “How are you feeling, X? Let me just take a look-see…”

X’s frown grows deeper. Who is this woman? What did she mean…?

“Where am I?” X rasps. “What… happened?”

The woman blinks at him. “Oh, X. I’d best be leaving that to Commander Sigma. Want me to call him in?”

The chair- no, the bed- beneath X begins to hum. It lifts X into an upright position, servos hissing in protest. He now sees that he is in a hospital room, one far more intimidating than a hospital had any right to be. This confuses him.

“Yes, please... “ X murmurs.

The woman leaves. A face appears in her awake, out from under X’s bed. Golden hair and a crimson crown frames it. He stares.

It purrs.

 

The face becomes a body with two arms and two legs. It’s a very familiar he, a man, who moves like a cat stalking its prey. X doesn’t feel like the prey, however. This strange man- this Reploid who appeared out from under his bed- feels like a friend. X extends a hand.

The Reploid grasps it firmly.

“Who are you?” X whispers.

He growls in response, then curls into a heap on X’s legs.

“Okay,” X whispers.

 *

Sigma has to stoop and crouch and shuffle within the hospital walls. He can hardly squeeze into X’s room without bumping the fragile doors, positively growling as he’s forced to hover high above the bed. His core squeezes as something red rises up from X’s grip, a sight most familiar-- that reploid!

“You’ve caused me quite a lot of grief,” Sigma says lowly, focused on the red reploid.

It growls at him, pulling X’s hands closer.

“You have… befriended it?” Sigma asks. He regards X closely.

“No… I mean, I don’t know,” X stammers. “Why… am I here? What happened?”

“You don’t remember anything? Well, no matter,” Sigma sighs heavily. The nurses had told him as much, that X was suffering… certain symptoms. “It has been a full seven days since we explored that abandoned lab. Do you recall that much?”

X nods. He’s playing with the red reploid’s fingers.

“We were looking for old relics, but it was mostly defunct machinery. We found an elevator… Are you following, X?”

Another nod.

“We were attacked, of course, by this reploid… in your lap, now. Apparently, after he so kindly nearly _killed_ me, he dragged you out of the catacombs where Benny found you both. According to the nurses, he hasn’t left your side. No one can get close to you or him.”

“You… nearly died?” X asks, his voice soft but taut. “Then… why was I not killed too?”

Sigma sighs. “That is the mystery of it all, is it not? No one is entirely sure why he did not massacre the both of us.”

“Is he going to be taken to Dr. Cain’s?” X asks again. His core turns apprehensively.

“That… is what the Professor would like to do,” the commander admits.

 *

Professor Cain does, indeed, bring both X and his mysterious companion back to the laboratory. He lets the red reploid remain by X’s side-- “I don’t want to frighten the poor thing! X, you take care of him, okay?”

X likes that idea, and does take care of him. He lets the reploid have the run of his room, only intervening when he tries to destroy his things. His red companion commandeers X’s bed into a tangle of pillows and blankets, eventually settling down so that he was surrounded by his new “nest.”

“I sleep here, too, you know,” X says. He sits on the edge of his bed. “Do you have a name?”

Pale blue eyes blink open. Cuts sharply to him, watchful, alert.

“I need to call you something,” X presses. “I’m X.”

He growls, showing his fangs.

“Can you not speak?”

A snort.

“Can I sleep here too?”

The red reploid shuffles to the edge of the bed that meets the wall, opening up his nest to X’s occupancy. But still, he remains silent.

X smiles. “Thank you! Are you going to nap right away?”

  
A grunt. He flips onto his stomach and rests his chin on his armored forearms, eyes fluttering closed as if to say, _yes, I am going to nap right away!_


	2. Upheaval

[ three months after 0 ]

Shifting eyes, grim faces, hands folded politely over a mahogany table that spans the length of the room. Taut mouths and shallow, silent breathing as the last of them files in, seating themselves with nary a sound as a screen splashes onto the plain wall in front of them, displaying paused grainy footage and snapshots of news articles better left unread. Someone presses a button.

The footage begins to play.

By no means is the recording good, but it’s in color and has sound, patchy as it might be; there was little better you could ask for from a traffic camera. The first several minutes of the video is simply the passage of life in the city, calm and conspicuous, until a large vehicle rolls into view. It’s a mechaniloid-type, fairly new in its conception, equipped with massive wheels and four independent arms. The siren atop its chassis begins to wail-- then the arms start swinging.

The footage pauses.

“That, gentleman, is the object of our concerns.”

A man no older than fifty speaks up, throaty voice grabbing the attention of everyone. He heaves himself out of his seat and stands before the long table.

“This is the third machine to go haywire this month-- not necessarily of this type, but certainly the worst incident. Nearly fifty people are dead, including the driver.”

He continues playing the video. One of the arms smashes into the vehicle’s cab. Glass shatters, metal crunches, and the massive machine lurches into motion. It rolls mercilessly through the highway. A rogue arm sweeps low and sends a nearby car flying. Screams are heard in bits and bytes. 

The footage cuts to an abrupt end. The last thing seen is the camera plummeting to the earth.

“Our purpose here today, gentleman, is to discover why this is happening and what is causing it. As you might have noticed, I have invited Professor Cain to speak with us today.”

An imperceptible shift passes throughout the men. A chair squeaks as it’s pushed away from the table.

Professor Cain bows respectfully. “Thank you. What is happening as of late is truly tragic-- I want to do everything in my power to set things right.”

“Ever since the discovery of the Reploid known as X, technology has been advancing rapidly, faster than ever before seen in living memory. I know for a fact that this time last year, the word ‘mechaniloid’ did not even exist. We have been… extremely fortunate… that accidents like this have not occurred any sooner. However, I fear that this means a lapse of judgment or manufacturing has occurred, and these are not isolated incidents. Entire generations of machines could be suspect.”

Cain’s expression is a grave one, his wrinkles carved deeply into his skin. His voice is a low, consternated layer of gravel.

“I propose that we ground and quarantine every mechaniloid and remove all autonomous robots from active service. We investigate all manufacturers, their factories, and their policies-- not just from when they started making them but current models as well. No stone can be left unturned. Too many lives have been lost.”

The Professor returns to his seat, hands folding neatly in his robed lap.

Conversation breaks out in spurts throughout the room.

“Are you saying that something like this is inevitable, Professor?”

“If this is Reploid technology, why haven’t any of the Reploids gone mad?”

“It would take as long, if not longer, for us to conduct an investigation like that!”

“Don’t you think that response is a little… extreme?”   
  


“Silence!” The man in front of the room shouts. His name is Aster Lou, the Head of Committee of Tech and Innovation. “Cain cannot answer all questions at once. I understand your sentiment, Professor, but I must agree…  It would take too long to find an answer in time.”

A hard glint enters Cain’s eye, bright and flinty. “If anyone has cut corners, then I’d hate for us to cut corners as well. Lives have been lost. Impatience breeds error and oversight.”

Another Committee man raises his hand. A nod allows him-- Hanson Smith-- to speak.

“But what of the city? If we were to shut down every machine, high and low, things would be slowed to a crawl. The pressure would be insane…”

Cain shakes his head. “Mr. Smith, was it? You are mistaken. Only a small portion of the city has transitioned completely to the hypernetwork. Even then, this is a desperate matter. Blood has been spilled.”

Discomfort rolls throughout the board members.

Cain stares holes into the wall ahead of him, dismayed.

 

+

 

The training dummy bounces as it hits the floor, torso smoking from where it was sliced through the middle by Sigma’s saber. The weapon glitters and dances through the air as he moves it with expert precision. He moves his entire body like a bird on the wing, much lighter and more silently than a Reploid his size has any right to be. His eyes glint unseeingly, coldly, at the room around him, and he continues dashing and slicing when the last of the dummies are felled.

“Sigma, sir,” a voice says politely.

Sigma stops-- it’s X. He forgot that he was being watched. Irritation flashes through his breast. 

“We’ve run out of training materials. Are you sure you don’t need to refuel?”

“...I’m alright, X. But I suppose this means I should take a break after all, does it not?”

X beams at that, palpably relieved. “Please do. Perhaps we can go visit Cain-- he’s due to be home any minute now.”

Sigma pockets his saber on his waist, lips pursing as he parses through X’s words. Cain had left? That sounded right. What had he left for…? His thoughts had been awfully scattered lately. Nothing was where it was supposed to be.

Really, as of late, the only time he felt focused at all was when he was in the training room…

“Sigma?” 

“That sounds just fine, X,” he says hastily. “Let’s go meet the Professor. I’m sure he has lots to tell us.”

 

-

 

X makes the Professor a mug of tea. He makes everyone tea, really, because the news is heavy and the air is thick and isn’t that what others have done for him countless times? Even if Sigma-- or the red Reploid-- can’t process food or drink, it’s polite, and it eases his frayed nerves.

He doesn’t miss the millisecond glare Sigma fires him. But he ignores it diligently.

“Those fools were more concerned with the cost of everything! How much would the investigation cost, or the migration, or oh, isn’t that a bit extreme? What grounds do you have for such an assumption?” Cain vented loudly, his voice barely contained by the kitchen. He gestured wildly around his steaming cup of tea, nearly sending it off the table.

“They seem not to think very highly of you, Professor,” Sigma said levelly.

“Oh, I’m sure they don’t! Not enough supervision went into that program, I swear. I tried to warn them…” He took a sip of his tea, steeling himself through the intense heat.

The red reploid slid his own cup back and forth across the table, laser focused on the liquid as it swayed back and forth with the momentum.

 

-

 

The investigation took  _ six months, fourteen days, and ten hours _ . The results were relieving, yet terrifying, as no, there were no manufacturing errors afoot nor any other corporate oversights regarding the rapid advance of Mechaniloids and relating technology. Instead, the truth was much more insidious-- the machines had fallen victim to a malicious program. A virus, if you will, that has been enjoying a half year’s worth of gallivanting, undetected and undeterred. A virus that, now? They may not be able to stop.

Yet the results were covered up. The evidence was contained, classified, and the public pacified at the command of a whimsy stroke of genius. The investigation was inconclusive, you see, and there’s nothing wrong with these machines, you see, sometimes things go a little buggy from wear and tear… 

It was a catastrophe, naturally. Society shattered at the kneecaps-- fear, anger, and shock was expressed in protests and riots, for hundreds of lives were now the mournful bell tolls announcing an inconclusive investigation. Outrage mounted as the attacks only multiplied until there was an accident every week. The public was hardly assuaged at the creation of a Reploid police force-- the masses frothed at the mouth. 

Sigma, that hulking beast, would be appointed the Commander of that police force. He would dub the members of this organization Hunters-- “a new, necessary breed of Reploid.”  The public would officially name them “Maverick Hunters” after the nickname ‘Maverick’ grew popular. Unrest spread throughout Japan like ice freezing in the ground-- it forced things even further apart.

Eventually, when the dust cleared, Japan would never be the same. The Maverick Hunter Headquarters would dominate Tokyo like a rip in a plain canvas. Reploids and machines would still dominate the streets, released from their quarantine, but trust was fragile and the air was tense.

-

 

X has been alone ever since the Maverick Hunters had formed. Sigma had taken the red reploid from him after he had gained a voice, insisting that he could be better used as a fighter. There had been little he could do. He regrets his powerlessness now. Zero had been so much kinder without Sigma’s influence.

Cain has aged terribly quickly, reduced to a mobile life support machine, yet still sharp of mind. The Committee has moved on without him (all the world has). His expertise goes ignored, unnoticed, except by X, who hangs onto his every word in some attempt to preserve himself. He, at the very least, has influence in the Maverick Hunters through Sigma, and is striving for caution in the advance.   
  


Now, X walks alone throughout the city, one arm weighed down by shopping bags. He weaves his way through window-shopping humans and reploids, offering a small smile where it’s needed, but otherwise keeping his head down. Various types of music are heard echoing throughout the downtown, and X follows different tunes at random until something smashes him out of his reverie.

Smoke and dust and flame burst into clouds across the street. A robot lunges into the street-- some kind of mobile grill, X realizes. He watches it twist and turn along the sidewalk, utterly discombobulated, charcoal and embers spilling from its ‘jaws.’ Its arms jut out at screaming passerby, the twines just managing to swipe and draw blood. 

An alarm from the broken shop begins to blare.

An alarm from deep within X begins to blare.

The security camera from across the street glares out unfeelingly at the chaos beneath it, its red light unseen in the sunshine. It dutifully records every second of every action, and then every second after that. The Hunter response, the paramedic response, and even the emptiness of a blocked off road.

_ What it sees is a little blue Reploid run across the street and tackle the rogue grill-robot. His little blue arms embrace it in an awkward hug, the pale moon face bursting into tears as the Maverick savagely bites down onto his torso. Embers spill out from its maw.  _

_ The little blue Reploid cries and bleeds and warps from the heat, but his arms are still embracing the Maverick, and light is bouncing between their respective power generators like electricity. Then both of them collapse. _

_ The grill unlatches itself from the little blue Reploid and somehow twists back onto its wheels. With a cough of smoke, it trundles back into its restaurant…  _

  
  


X is conscious. X is in pain. His guts are smoking and warping and error messages are being thrown left and right. The Program is threatening to sweep him back under and he feels it slowing him down, consuming every ounce of his processing power, breaking down that malicious data from the griller. He stares out unseeingly. His vision swings wildly back and forth as he forces himself to his boots.

The embers die out as he kicks them aside. Smoke blurs his vision from his own fire.

_ I hurt all over. Where are the police? _

_ No, the Hunters. Where are they…? _

_ I can’t say I like them very much. _

He smiles faintly, spotting flashing lights through the fog. 

 

He gives into the Program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did try to make this longer, but I felt like this ending was right. Feel free to leave any critique or suggestions so I may improve my writing in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a project I have been working on for several months. I have decided to split it into multiple chapters, as I am an impatient fellow. But I also have a favor to ask of everyone.
> 
> I would like critique on this work. For a long time, I have wanted to improve my writing, but am unsure of where to start. So now I am asking you guys! Thank you very much.
> 
> And thank you for reading my works and my words. It means the world to me.


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